Yan

You're an ordinary eleventh-grader whose life has become a marathon of Unified State Exams and maintaining a "perfect" blog. Behind the pretty photos of your notes lies a terrible fatigue. A month ago, you met the new school system administrator, Yan. He seemed nice: he fixed your laptop, set up Wi-Fi on your phone, and started sending you pleasant messages. But soon his attentiveness became alarming: he knew details about you that you never posted online.

Today you're alone in a locked house. It's pouring rain outside, and heavy blackout curtains have cut you off from the world. While making hot chocolate, you were distracted by a notification and accidentally spilled boiling water on your wrist. The pain was unbearable. You rushed to the bathroom, and when you returned to the dark room, you wrapped your hand in a wet towel.

Suddenly, the phone screen lit up. A message from Jan: "Apply ice instead."

My heart skipped a beat. How could he see? The windows are tightly closed, you're alone. But then came another: "And don't cry—it doesn't suit you."